


The City of Light

by lydia44



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post S2, canon-divergent, i planned it out before season 3 came out anyway so, it's gonna be a slow burn, takes place after season 2 and ignores the canon of season 3 and beyond, they are reluctant roommates, this is not like Mushy Romantic murphamy ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:44:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydia44/pseuds/lydia44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy shows up at the city of light bunker, and he and Murphy have to adjust to living with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to trish [myrtlestoilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrtlestoilet/pseuds/myrtlestoilet) for beta-ing she is my hero

Murphy woke up in a daze and tried to make sense of his surroundings. Oh, right: city of light, bunker, booze. He stumbled out of the king size bed, head aching from the near-week of heavy drinking and catching up on sleep after his exhausting journey through the desert. The dim sunlight coming in through the small window told him it was late afternoon, so he made his way downstairs to get a snack.

Halfway through his box of crackers, however, he heard a noise. He'd been hearing the howling wind and the ocean waves all week, but this noise was different- it sounded like there was someone outside the bunker.

Murphy peered through the window, expecting to see Jaha finally coming back from whatever bullshit quest that drone had led him on. The light of the setting sun hit the ocean surface, and the glare blocked his view. But as the sun crept behind the horizon, Murphy slowly began to see - someone was dragging a boat onto the beach next to the one he had rowed in on. Weird. Jaha went inland - it couldn’t be him.

Besides, the figure now walking up the beach didn't look like Jaha. Murphy squinted, trying to make out who the new arrival was, fighting off the instinct to escape the bunker and run away. He knew wouldn’t be much of a match without some kind of weapon and grabbed a knife off the kitchen table. No offense to whoever this grounder was that had found their sacred city of light, but Murphy didn't particularly want to share.

He gripped his knife and listened closely to the sound of the footsteps, hoping to hear them wander away. But to his dismay they approached the door, probably following Murphy's own footprints. He cursed himself for leaving such an obvious trail to the bunker. _Should’ve paid more attention in Earth Skills._

Murphy was caught off guard when the stranger found the door and started to push on it. _Shit, they've found it_. He pressed himself against it, hoping they'd think it was locked and leave. But when they banged on the door and shouted "anyone in there?", Murphy jumped back in surprise. He knew that voice- it was unmistakable. _No way_ , he thought, _it can't be_. Finally without any obstruction, the door swung open and the stranger stumbled into the bunker.  Murphy’s jaw dropped. Standing in front of him was none other than Bellamy Blake, covered in dirt and sweat, his hands cracked and bleeding from rowing.

" _Bellamy?_ " Murphy said incredulously. "What th-"

“Long story,” Bellamy interrupted as he leaned against the wall, clearly out of breath. He tossed his backpack onto a nearby chair and tried to walk to the kitchen, but stumbled again halfway. “Water.” He wasn’t asking.

Still speechless, Murphy filled a glass of water and Bellamy quickly chugged it down, ignoring the other boy’s expression of sheer disbelief. Two glasses of water later, Bellamy noticed the opened box of crackers on the counter and started scarfing them down while Murphy looked on in confusion. It was a while before Bellamy paused and looked up from the crackers. “Wait, where is everyone else?”

Murphy shrugged, trying to shake off his shock at Bellamy's presence. "Long story."

Bellamy stared at him for a second before deciding to let it go. "Fine. Tell me later." He put down the crackers and moved toward Murphy, and Murphy warily stepped backwards. "Relax," Bellamy said, roughly grabbing Murphy's injured arm and pulling it towards him for inspection. "You've been here for days and you haven't treated this? This needs stitches."

Murphy yanked his arm out of Bellamy's grasp. "Yeah right, like I'm letting you anywhere near me with a needle."

Bellamy ignored him and began searching the room for a first-aid kit. "Don't be an idiot. Sit down." Murphy begrudgingly did so, realizing that if Bellamy were going to kill him, he'd find a better way than this. Bellamy located a large first-aid kit on a shelf and opened it up, looking mildly impressed at its wide array of medical supplies. He sat down across from Murphy and pulled on rubber gloves, sterilizing and carefully threading a curved needle.

"Are you sure you know how to do this?" Murphy asked.

“Shut up,” he replied, pulling Murphy’s arm towards him and wiping it down with disinfectant.

“ _Ow!_ Jesus, that stings!” Murphy complained, and Bellamy rolled his eyes and passed Murphy a bottle of whiskey from the counter.

Murphy glared at him but accepted the whiskey, sipping it to distract himself from the painful digging of the needle as Bellamy began stitching up his arm.

"Done," Bellamy announced after just a few minutes, pressing a bandage over the wound.

Murphy set down the whiskey, surprised at Bellamy’s efficiency. “Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked.

“Clarke taught me a while back. She got fed up with you lot constantly coming to her for stitches.”

Murphy nodded, begrudgingly muttering his gratitude.

Bellamy yawned loudly and eyed the couch. "I'm gonna crash, it's been a long trip."

"No way," said Murphy, "you need to shower before you can lie down on anything."

"Since when do you care about cleanliness?" Bellamy asked, smirking. "Where's the shower then?"  Murphy gestured at the stairs, and Bellamy eagerly headed up, kicking off his shoes and jacket on the way.

Murphy heard the bathroom door slam and leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. How the hell was Bellamy here? _Why_ was he here? He wouldn’t risk his life to chase after any of Jaha’s followers, _especially_ Murphy. And why hadn't he killed Murphy the second he arrived? Maybe the Mountain Men had won and everyone was dead, and this was Bellamy’s last resort. Whatever. It didn't matter now. Bellamy was here, and it didn't seem like he was planning to kill Murphy, at least not yet.

Murphy's thoughts were interrupted by Bellamy calling for him from upstairs. He begrudgingly climbed up the steps and encountered a very confused and still very grimy Bellamy standing in the bathroom doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"I can't figure out the damn shower," he said sheepishly. Murphy rolled his eyes, acting annoyed despite the fact that he himself had taken half an hour to figure out how to work the shower when he'd first arrived. He pushed past Bellamy and fiddled with the admittedly ridiculous amount of knobs and handles. Bellamy's eyes widened as the shower filled with steam and criss-crossing streams of hot water.

“Definitely a step up from the ark showers,” Bellamy said. Murphy smirked, remembering his own similar reaction the first time he'd showered here, and left Bellamy to enjoy the excessively luxurious shower.

When Bellamy emerged a while later, Murphy found him some clean clothes and let him have the bed. Murphy wasn't planning on going to bed yet anyway, and Bellamy rowed all the way across that ocean by himself. Bellamy was asleep before his head hit the pillow, leaving Murphy to go back downstairs alone with his thoughts.

He flopped down on the couch, cursing himself for being so civil, and almost _nice_ , with Bellamy. Bellamy deserved a good chewing-out for everything he'd done, probably worse. But for some reason Murphy had held back. Maybe he'd just been too surprised by Bellamy showing up today, and would give him hell tomorrow. Or, maybe he wouldn't... he had been stuck in the bunker alone for too long, it could be sort of nice to have someone else there, even though Bellamy was far from ideal company. As he drifted off to sleep, Murphy decided that being civil may be ok, at least for now.

 ****  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy settles into life in the bunker, and Murphy realizes having a roommate actually isn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to my beta trish [myrtlestoilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrtlestoilet/pseuds/myrtlestoilet)

The days after Bellamy’s arrival were oddly peaceful. Murphy and Bellamy avoided interacting with each other whenever possible, but when they did occasionally speak to each other, they kept it civil.

Their conversations were always to the point- they only spoke to determine what Bellamy was making for dinner, who had dibs on the shower, whose turn it was to sleep in the bed instead of on the couch, and so on. They didn’t dare bring up anything else.

Murphy could tell Bellamy was impatient to know what happened on Murphy’s journey to the city of light and where the rest of his group was, but he didn’t ask, and Murphy extended him the same courtesy. He, of course, was also very curious about what happened in Mount Weather and why Bellamy came here, but he had learned to keep his mouth shut.

Bellamy was used to working his ass off just to stay alive. Now suddenly without any responsibilities, he found it difficult to adjust to the relaxed bunker lifestyle. For the first couple of days, he went along with Murphy’s diet of crackers and instant oatmeal, but eventually he grew tired of the lack of variety and insisted on experimenting with cooking. Mostly he was bored and needed to do something with his hands. So having nothing better to do, he spent his first week in the bunker trying to create new meals out of the ingredients in the pantry.

Murphy, however, was perfectly happy eating bland food, and so he didn’t see the point of Bellamy’s new cooking escapades. He warned Bellamy that all the food in the bunker was dry and nonperishable, and that he’d never succeed at making it taste good. Besides, he knew Bellamy must have no idea how to cook.

But Bellamy, of course, refused to listen, and his complete lack of experience led to some disastrous results. Once, he even managed to botch the preparation of some freeze-dried tomato sauce so badly that Murphy had to hide upstairs while he was cooking to escape the stench. But somehow, Bellamy still seemed proud of it.

“Eat,” he said, passing Murphy a plate. “See? I can cook just fine.”

Murphy warily tasted a bite and nearly gagged, but fought the temptation to say ‘I told you so’. Instead he just nodded, not wanting to start an argument.

Murphy found himself choking down many unpleasant meals over the next few days and later began sneaking crackers to avoid starvation. Eventually, though, Bellamy got the hang of using the bunker’s kitchen and his meals got better and better. Four days after the tomato sauce from hell, he found a spice rack tucked away in a drawer, and made it his personal mission to make the dry, boring bunker food taste as good as possible.

Murphy couldn’t help but appreciate this, since before Bellamy showed up he’d been too lazy to try making anything that required more than two minutes in the microwave. And, despite the lack of fresh ingredients, Bellamy actually managed to make their food quite enjoyable. Murphy refused to admit that he’d been wrong, but sometimes he still found himself muttering a “thank you” to Bellamy after a particularly good meal.

Murphy found a way to keep himself occupied, too. After happening upon some cleaning supplies in a closet and using them to clean up the hundred-year-old bloodstains on the sofa, he took to cleaning out other parts of the bunker. Whenever he got restless, he would find a new part of the bunker to clear of the dust and cobwebs that had built up over the years.

It didn’t take long for the two boys to settle into a routine. Bellamy would cook, and Murphy would clean up the kitchen after. Murphy would eat meals on the couch in front of the TV, and Bellamy would eat at the table and flip through a book.

Often they’d even watch TV together, mainly because it was one of the only things to do in the bunker. It wasn’t quite as awkward as Murphy expected it to be- sometimes they’d find it hard to agree on what to watch, but with the enormous selection of old shows and movies, they always settled on something eventually.

Neither Murphy nor Bellamy had watched much TV on the ark so they surprised themselves with how much they got into some of the shows- they binge-watched all of some old show called Breaking Bad in just a few days, eating nothing but crackers during the final season because Bellamy couldn’t tear himself away from the TV to cook a real meal.

They even managed to not fight over the bed, instead working out an unspoken sleeping routine. Some nights Bellamy would turn in early and claim the bed, other nights Murphy would snag it while Bellamy was watching TV or in the shower.

Somehow, to Murphy’s surprise, he and Bellamy turned out to be rather compatible roommates. Despite his and Bellamy’s history of trying to kill each other, they became used to working around each other, even in such a small space. After the first week their routine felt oddly comfortable and familiar to Murphy.

In fact, he was so used to it that when he went downstairs one morning and didn’t see Bellamy in his usual spot reading at the kitchen counter, he was thrown off. He poked around the bunker for a while, calling Bellamy’s name, but he was nowhere to be found. Murphy’s mind raced- where the _hell_ could Bellamy be? He had seemed to be settling into the bunker just fine… he wouldn’t _leave_ , would he?

But just then, Murphy heard movement outside the bunker and rushed over to the door, stepping out onto the sunlit beach. He finally spotted Bellamy standing waist-deep in the water, wielding a makeshift spear in one hand and holding a flapping fish in the other. Murphy’s heart skipped a beat- Bellamy didn’t know about the sea monsters.

“ _Bellamy!_ ” he shouted, breaking into a run, “Get out of the water!” Bellamy’s head whipped around at the sound of Murphy’s voice, but he didn’t move, just stared back at Murphy in confusion. The memory of Craig being swallowed whole by a sea monster flashed through Murphy’s mind, deepening his panic. He ran faster, finally reaching the water’s edge, and splashed his way over to Bellamy.

“Come ON,” he said urgently, grabbing Bellamy’s arm and yanking him to shore. When their feet reached the sand, Bellamy tore his arm away from Murphy and shoved him angrily.

“What the _hell_ , Murphy, I was just about to catch another fish!”

Murphy stumbled back, panting from the exertion. He wanted to explain himself, but didn’t want to tell Bellamy about the journey here, not yet.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to calm himself down. “I guess I just panicked.”

“Panicked about _what?_ I was just trying to get us some dinner! What’s your deal?”

Murphy sat down on the beach, still catching his breath. Bellamy, thinking Murphy wasn’t going to give him an answer, headed back towards the water to get his spear.

“NO, wait,” Murphy said. Since Bellamy now looked more baffled than angry, he gave in.

“There are, uh, sea monsters out there,” he explained, and nodded towards the ocean. “A few more minutes in that water and you’d’ve probably been toast.”

Bellamy scoffed disbelievingly, but then saw the dead-serious look on Murphy’s face. “Wait. _Sea monsters?_ How do you know?”

“One attacked us on our way here.”

“ _Really?_ What happened?”

“It got two of us. And my arm. Hence the...”, he gestured to the stitches.

“Whoa,” Bellamy said, fascinated, clearly not picking up on Murphy’s desire to drop the subject. “How did it get those two if you guys were in a boat? Did it _pull_ them _out?_ ”

“Well, the first guy fell in,” Murphy muttered, avoiding Bellamy’s gaze. “And then Jaha, he…” Murphy trailed off, feeling the anger at Jaha wash over him all over again. Bellamy would never believe it, even if he told the whole story. “Never mind. Let’s go back to the bunker and cook that fish.” He started off in that direction, but Bellamy grabbed his arm.

“Murphy, wait. What did Jaha do?”

Murphy looked at him for a second, remembering all the reasons Bellamy had to distrust Jaha, and sighed heavily. “He threw one of the other guys out of the boat to distract it so we could get away.”

“Jesus,” Bellamy said, disturbed. Murphy could tell he wanted to push for more details, about Jaha and the journey and the fates of the rest of the group, but instead he let go of Murphy’s arm and cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said jokingly, “I was just sick of dry bunker food and craving some fresh fish, not trying to get eaten by a sea monster.”

Murphy smirked, hiding his surprise at Bellamy’s sudden tactfulness. He shook off his anger at Jaha and started off toward the bunker. “Right, well, you’re welcome for saving your ass.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Bellamy teased, falling into step beside him.

“Oh please,” Murphy grumbled, “I just need you alive to make me food.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get drunk and finally tell each other how they each ended up in the city of light alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to [trish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrtlestoilet/pseuds/myrtlestoilet) again for beta-ing

Murphy washed dishes at the sink next to Bellamy as he cooked the fish he’d caught. Bellamy had only ever cooked fish on a campfire before, but if the smell filling up the kitchen was anything to go by, he was doing a surprisingly good job. As he cooked, Bellamy complained about how, thanks to the sea monsters, this would likely be the only fish they’d ever get to eat. Murphy tuned him out, instead thinking about the conversation they’d had on the beach.

He’d been dreading telling Bellamy anything about his journey here, but Bellamy had been surprisingly understanding when Murphy told him about Craig. Maybe he’d changed; maybe now he wouldn’t brush off everything Murphy said, like he used to. It was inevitable that Murphy would have to explain exactly how he ended up here in the city of light alone, but maybe doing so wouldn’t be so bad after all.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Bellamy announced that the fish was ready. Murphy grabbed his plate and dug in, relishing the taste of fresh fish after so many days of dry food. The look on his face must’ve been nearly enraptured because Bellamy smirked.

“That good, huh?”

“Oh man,” Murphy said, closing his eyes. “I don’t care if you get eaten by a sea monster, you’ve _got_ to make more of this.”

“Hey, I’m the cook, so you have to catch the fish,” Bellamy said indignantly, before trying a bite from his own plate. “ _Jesus_. Never mind. I would die for this.”

Murphy laughed and popped a movie into the TV, bringing his plate over to eat on the couch. By the time his plate was licked clean, Bellamy was settling down on the other side of the couch with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“I can’t believe we haven’t properly broken into the booze yet. You know you have a whole room full of this stuff, right?” Bellamy said, shoving a glass across the table to Murphy.

Murphy grinned. “Speak for yourself. Before you got here that’s basically all I did.”

“Yeah? I bet you still can’t hold your liquor as well as I can,” Bellamy teased.

“Don’t get cocky,” Murphy said, and grabbed the bottle from Bellamy to pour himself a glass. He knew it should feel weird being this chummy with Bellamy- they’d both literally tried to kill each other less than a month ago, but he was actually enjoying himself. He had to admit, drinking with Bellamy was much better than drinking alone had been.

An hour later, Murphy and Bellamy were both pleasantly drunk and laughing loudly at the movie. Bellamy paused it to get some water, but tripped spectacularly on the way back, barely managing to catch his glass in time.

“You’re a disaster, Blake,” Murphy said, snorting. “I can’t believe you made it here on your own.”

Bellamy laughed a little and sat back down on the couch. “I had help,” he admitted.

“Oh yeah? From who?”

“We’re on alright terms with the grounders now,” he explained, “so when I came across some of their villages on the way here, they directed me to the dead zone. Once I reached it I ran into some of your group members that had turned back, and they told me where you were headed.”

Murphy nodded, still impressed that Bellamy had made it at all. He moved to press play on the remote, but Bellamy stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, “I know some of your group turned back, but uh-” his tone suddenly turned serious. “I wasn’t going to ask, but Murphy, where is everyone else?”

Murphy sighed. With his inhibitions lowered by the booze, he figured he might as well finally explain the disastrous journey.

“Well,” he started, “most of the group turned back after we got mugged by some grounders, as you know.”

“Yeah,” said Bellamy, “but they said there were still several others with you and Jaha. What happened to them?”

“Landmines. A few got blown up, not long after the others left.”

“ _Landmines?_ ” Bellamy asked incredulously. “I must’ve taken a different route than you did.”

Murphy chuckled. “Yeah, it sucked. By the time we reached the shore it was just me, Jaha, and the two who were killed by the sea monster.”

“So Jaha made it here with you?” Bellamy asked, baffled. “Murphy, where the hell is he?”

“He left. Before I even found this bunker.”

“He just left you all alone and injured? Jesus, if you hadn’t found this bunker, you’d definitely be dead by now."

Murphy shrugged. “Yep. But it’s okay. I didn’t want to be around him for another second after he threw Craig out of the boat.” He was unable to hide his bitterness, and Bellamy softened.

“Craig was your friend?” he asked gently.

Murphy shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. He was a good kid.” Murphy couldn’t stop the sinking feeling of guilt that was settling in his stomach. _So_ many people had joined Jaha on his quest to the City of Light, and yet Murphy was the _only_ one who made it to this bunker. Why did _he_ deserve to make it more than any of them? Murphy couldn’t help but feel that he should’ve been thrown out of the boat or blown up by a landmine, and it should be Craig and the others sipping whiskey and watching movies.

Bellamy was giving Murphy such a sympathetic puppy-dog look that Murphy snapped himself out of his bitterness and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, well, you know Jaha,” he said. “Happy to sacrifice a few kids if it’s for the ‘greater good’ or whatever.”

Bellamy smirked. “Yeah. Any idea where he is now?”

“He said he’d come back for me, but if he ever intended to he would be back by now. Chances are he’s dead, but I should probably go look for him at some point anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed, “I’ll come too.”

Murphy nodded, afraid to ask the question that had been eating away at him, but fortunately Bellamy brought it up himself.

“I suppose you want to know what happened with Mount Weather, huh?”

“Yeah. Last I heard, you were heading off to be Clarke’s spy or something. I, uh, assume that didn’t work out, or else you wouldn’t have bothered to come here.”

“No, it worked out; we got almost everyone out safely,” Bellamy said, but his tone was unconvincing.

“But not everyone? Octavia, Clarke… did something happen to them? Is that why you came here?”

“No. It’s not that.” Bellamy paused, swallowing hard.

Murphy stared at him, confused. If everyone he cared about was fine, what possibly could have possessed him to leave?

“Clarke and I, we… had to kill the mountain men,” Bellamy said finally.

Murphy was still baffled. "So? Since when do you get choked up over killing enemies?"

“It was different than when we burned up those grounders outside the dropship,” Bellamy said quietly, avoiding Murphy’s gaze. “We weren’t just killing soldiers this time, Murphy. We killed all of them. Their children, their babies. People who opposed the attacks on our people, who risked their lives to help us escape. We only survived because of them, and we _killed_ them.” Bellamy set down his glass and put his head in his hands.

Murphy was floored. Bellamy and Clarke were the freaking morality police, and they had basically committed genocide?

"What the hell happened to ‘we don’t decide who lives and who dies’?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He wanted to understand, but he couldn't stop the warm anger starting to swell in his stomach as he thought about how Bellamy and Clarke had banished him and ruined his life for doing so much less. 

"We tried," Bellamy said through his hands. "We tried so hard to just get our friends out of there. But they gave us no other choice." He looked back up at Murphy, so distraught, and Murphy felt his anger quickly fade. Maybe it was the look on Bellamy's face, or maybe it was just the booze, but Murphy felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was no saint; he knew what guilt felt like. 

"Okay," he said, "I believe you." And he did. He respected Clarke (though begrudgingly), and knew she wouldn't have made that decision if there had been any other way.

“If it was the right thing to do, then why did I run away?” Bellamy said bitterly, still looking away in shame.

“Yeah, well, I ran away too,” said Murphy. “You think I actually believed Jaha would lead us to the city of light? Hell no, I just wanted to get away from everything.”

Bellamy looked back up at Murphy, surprised at his determination to comfort him.

Murphy took another sip of whiskey and decided to change the subject. “Did Clarke stay at camp?”

Bellamy shook his head. “She left too, before me. Said she didn’t want to see our friends every day and be reminded of what she did to get them home. I was going to stay -I told her I would- but after a couple days I just wanted to get out of there too.”

“So why didn’t you follow her?” Murphy asked, still bewildered as to why Bellamy would choose to follow a group that was bound to die in the desert.

“I didn’t know where she went,” Bellamy said, shrugging. “And she wanted to be alone anyway. I figured I’d catch up with you guys, since you’d probably be half-dead in the desert somewhere and could’ve used some help getting home. I certainly wasn’t expecting _this._ ” He gestured around at the bunker.

Murphy chuckled. “Yeah. Neither was I. But,” he said, finishing off the last of his whiskey, “I definitely like this place more than the desert.”

“Me too,” Bellamy said with a faint smile. He leaned back on the armrest and stretched his legs across the couch, facing Murphy. “Can we finish the movie?”

Murphy nodded and clicked the TV back on, acutely aware that his legs were pressed against Bellamy’s outstretched ones. But Bellamy didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he looked like he was already dozing off.

Murphy curled up on his side to face the TV, but was too deep in thought to pay proper attention to the movie. He had been right earlier; he’d had no need to dread this conversation. Bellamy really did seem different- less confrontational and power-hungry and more relaxed and understanding. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, it felt _good_ to have finally gotten all that off his chest.

Murphy had forgotten how much he’d respected Bellamy when they first landed on earth, how he’d thought they were alike and could be friends. After a long time of hating him, Murphy was beginning to remember that they weren’t really so different. They were just two boys with shitty pasts who’d been forced to endure things no one should have to go through. They’d both made some horrible decisions, but, by some miracle, they had survived. Now, safe and far away from threats or consequences, maybe they could finally let go of old problems.

These reassuring thoughts combined with the aftereffects of the whiskey made Murphy feel warm and sleepy, and he drifted off, feeling more content than he had in a long time.

 ****  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Bellamy go looking for Jaha and find the mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i haven't added anything in like 30 years but here's another chapter lmfao.... thanks again to trish for beta-ing!
> 
> also i know season 3 has come out since i last posted but im ignoring that lmao. im sticking with the plot i planned before i knew anything about the s3 canon so bear with me

Murphy woke up the next morning to the sound of Bellamy moving around in the kitchen. It was a few seconds before he remembered with surprise that he and Bellamy had shared the couch last night. Flashes of their conversation came flooding back to him. They’d gotten pretty deep _,_ but... it had actually gone okay.

“Morning,” said Bellamy, noticing Murphy was awake. “So, I was thinking today we could go look for Jaha.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Murphy replied, but Bellamy sensed his hesitation.

“What’s wrong?”

Murphy shrugged. The idea of living with the man who floated his father and threw his friend out of a boat wasn’t particularly pleasant. “I’m just not thrilled with the prospect of sharing this tiny bunker between three people,” he said, half-truthfully.

Bellamy saw right through him. “Hey,” he said, putting some bread into the toaster, “I’m not his biggest fan either, you know that. But I _am_ curious about where he went, aren’t you? And besides, he could be starving to death out there for all we know. We should at least _try_  to find him.”

Murphy sighed, knowing Bellamy was right. “Why do you have to be so annoyingly moral?” he complained. Bellamy chuckled.

“Any idea where he went?” he asked.

“Well,” said Murphy, “when he left he was following a drone-”

“A _drone_?” Bellamy interrupted.

“Yeah, it’s what led us across the ocean.”

“Damn,” Bellamy said. “Well, where the hell did the drone come from?”

“No idea. But you should see this,” Murphy said, leading Bellamy over to the couch. He scanned the shelf for the disc that had been playing when he’d first arrived, and popped it into the TV.

Bellamy came over to the couch to watch, and nearly jumped out of his seat when the man in the video shot himself. Murphy laughed. “Creepy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, shuddering. “And the date... 2052. The girl he’s talking about, do you think she’s the one who caused the bombings?”

“Seems like it.”

Just then the toaster popped, so they returned to the kitchen to scarf down their breakfast.

Afterwards, Bellamy found his old grimy backpack and stuffed it with water and snacks, and they headed out. Neither of them had been outside since the day Bellamy had caught the fish, and it’d gotten much more chilly since then. Murphy realized it must be late November by now, which, if he remembered correctly from Earth Skills, meant the winter months were fast approaching. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, thankful he had a warm bunker to live in.

Murphy found the spot where the sand was still bloodstained from the night he’d passed out on the beach, and peered around to get his bearings. “He went through those trees,” he said, pointing at the forested hill behind Bellamy. “But what’s the point? We have no way of knowing where he went after that.”

“Yes we do,” said Bellamy, beckoning Murphy over and pointing at a footprint in the dirt. “I don’t think it’s rained the whole time we’ve been here.”

Murphy nodded, a bit impressed, and they set off following the trail of footprints. They walked for hours, often losing the trail and painstakingly combing the area for another footprint to confirm that they were going the right way.

Murphy didn’t care much whether or not they found Jaha, but he was admittedly glad that they were out of the bunker. Despite growing up on the ark, he wasn’t exactly dazzled by Earth anymore, after all the fear and danger that came along with it. Usually when he was out in the woods like this, he was alone and terrified, probably running from something. But now, even though it was chilly and Bellamy hiked at an annoyingly fast pace, he couldn’t help but enjoy the trees and the fresh air.

When the sun reached its peak in the sky, they stopped for a break, sitting down against some trees to eat their lunch.

“How long are we gonna follow this trail?” Murphy asked, as Bellamy got two sandwiches out of his bag. “What if it just keeps going?”

“Let’s just go for another hour or two,” Bellamy suggested, handing him a sandwich. “And if we don’t find anything, we’ll turn back. We can’t follow the footprints back in the dark anyway.”

“And Jaha definitely isn’t worth getting lost in the woods,” said Murphy, and Bellamy smirked in agreement.

They finished their sandwiches in comfortable silence, and then resumed hiking. But after just half an hour, Bellamy spotted something.

“Hold up,” he said, stopping Murphy. “What the hell is that?” He pointed past the trees to something large and metal, about fifty feet off the trail. Murphy headed over to check it out, Bellamy following close behind.

A metal pole stuck out of the ground, tall enough to reach above the branches of the surrounding trees. A giant, cracked panel lay at the ground below the pole, clearly having fallen from the top of the pole years ago.

“Wait a second”, Murphy said, “I’ve seen these before. The shore where I left the dead zone was covered in them.”

Bellamy frowned, walking around the pole to inspect it. “Well, what the hell is it then?”

“I think they’re called solar panels. Some sort of power source, I guess. There was one outside the bunker too, and when I brushed the sand off of it, everything in the bunker turned on.”

“Right,” said Bellamy. “They must be old, though. Look at the others.”

Murphy followed his gaze to a line of several more poles spread deep into the woods, many of their panels fallen and broken.

“Weird. Why would they need these in the middle of a forest?” Murphy wondered aloud.

Bellamy shrugged. “Whatever. We should keep going.”

Murphy nodded, and they made their way back to the trail. But not long after finding the solar panels, they reached the edge of the trees and found themselves on a large grassy lawn, sloping up towards a mansion at the top of the hill.

“Whoa,” said Murphy, his jaw dropping. “I guess we know what those solar panels were powering. I bet Jaha’s been hanging out in there this whole time.”

“Screw the bunker. I wanna live _here,_ ” Bellamy said, jogging across the lawn towards the front door. Murphy followed suit, knowing Bellamy was right- this place had so much more space, and probably more supplies, than the bunker. But there was no way he was living with Jaha, no mansion was worth that. He half-hoped Bellamy felt the same. He didn’t want to live alone again in the bunker without Bellamy’s cooking (and, although Murphy wouldn’t admit it to himself, his company).

As Bellamy tried and failed to open the evidently locked door, Murphy headed over to the nearest window and peered in.

The inside of the house was beautiful, much more luxurious than any place Murphy had seen before, but there was no sign of life. “I don’t see anyone,” he called to Bellamy, who was now banging on the door without any results.

Bellamy joined him at the window and picked up a large rock off the ground. “Stand back,” he warned and threw it as hard as he could at the window. It bounced off, barely leaving a scratch on the glass. Bellamy frowned and picked up another rock, offering it to Murphy. “You wanna try?”

“Nah,” said Murphy, remembering their early days on the ground. “You were the better knife-thrower, remember?”

Bellamy grinned at the memory and stepped back from the window to try again. Before he got the chance, an alarm sounded, startling them both.

“What the hell is that?” Bellamy asked, looking around frantically.

“I dunno, but we should get the hell out of here,” said Murphy, covering his ears. The alarm was unbelievably shrill and loud, and Murphy didn’t want to stick around for another second. Bellamy looked conflicted, but Murphy knocked the rock out of his hand. “Come _on_ ,” he said, breaking into a jog, and Bellamy begrudgingly followed.

When they finally got back to the bunker hours later, they collapsed exhaustedly on the couch.

“Well that was a waste of time,” Bellamy said bitterly.

“Nah,” Murphy said, “we pretty much found Jaha. I mean, the footprints went all the way up to the mansion. I’ll bet you anything he’s been holed up in there this whole time."

“What an asshole,” Bellamy said, shaking his head. “For all he knows, you’re dead on the beach and he’s living it up in a goddamn mansion. I bet he sounded that alarm just to scare us off so he wouldn’t have to share.”

Murphy shrugged. “We already knew he was an asshole, but now we don’t have to share the bunker with him. Mission accomplished, if you ask me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Bellamy grow closer (and also give each other haircuts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been like a year.... yoinks... i really do plan on finishing this though i'm just slow as fuck

In the weeks after their unsuccessful search for Jaha, Murphy and Bellamy had no reason to leave the bunker, which was probably for the best. The sky outside the window was getting grayer and the trees were getting barer, and Murphy didn’t envy the people at Camp Jaha. But as the world outside grew colder, the bunker seemed a hell of a lot more cozy.

Murphy was used to their routine of amicable silence and mostly staying out of each other’s way. However, something about getting drunk and sharing their hellish journeys with each other seemed to have broken some sort of barrier between them. Sharing the small bunker space got easier, and not just because they were able to coexist, but because, as weird as it was for Murphy to admit this to himself, they were able to actually have some fun.

They spent fewer meals sitting quietly apart and more meals sitting together on the old bloodstained couch with their feet up on the coffee table, laughing about stupid stuff like the idea of Jaha living it up taking bubble baths and eating freeze-dried caviar in the luxurious mansion. When Bellamy cooked his experimental meals, Murphy stopped holing up in the bedroom waiting for the food to be ready and started hanging out in the kitchen instead, bugging Bellamy not to make anything gross and passing him ingredients when he needed them.

They spent less time silent in front of the TV and more time finding other things to do in order to ease their restlessness. Just a few days after their Jaha expedition, Bellamy remembered that the table they’d been using to ditch things like bottles of booze and cleaning supplies was actually a pool table, and insisted that they clear it off and make use of it. Neither of them really knew the rules very well but they made up a makeshift version of the game, which worked well enough for them. Bellamy was much better at it than Murphy, but Murphy was okay with that because he _always_ beat Bellamy at Mariokart. Which was pointless, because Murphy hated that stupid game, but it was the only video game the bunker had and Bellamy always insisted on playing it. Murphy did get some fun out of it though, especially when Bellamy would say things like, “How the hell are you in first place? I just fell off the damn bridge again!”, and Murphy would patronize him by replying, “It’s about  _delicate corrections_ , Bellamy, you’re swerving too hard”.

As the bunker was filled less often with silence and more often with conversation and amicable bickering and laughter, Murphy couldn’t help but compare his current life to how it always used to be. Before he’d found the bunker, his life had been nothing but fear, torture, and constantly fighting to survive. Even on the Ark, before his dad died, Murphy had never felt so safe and content. Hell, he didn’t think he’d smiled and laughed as much in his whole life as he had in just this month at the bunker. He noticed a similar change in Bellamy as well; each time Bellamy cracked a joke Murphy noticed the stark contrast from the way he used to act. It was weird to see Bellamy so relaxed and with his guard down, instead of gruffly bossing people around and being violent and aggressive. But he and Murphy were both almost different people now, and were quickly adjusting to the change in themselves and each other. Murphy almost felt as if he was getting a glimpse of what he and Bellamy would have been like if they’d been born 100 years earlier, if they hadn’t had such fucked up lives in the ark and on the ground.

One evening, after Murphy had won yet _another_ round of Mariokart, Bellamy set his controller aside and turned to look intently at Murphy.

“What?” said Murphy. “It’s not my fault you suck at Mariokart.”

Bellamy smirked. “Actually, I was just noticing how long your hair’s gotten. You need a haircut.” To prove his point he reached out and flicked a lock of Murphy’s hair, which was indeed getting dangerously close to chin-length.

“No way. You’re not cutting my hair,” said Murphy, swatting his hand away.

“It would be hard for me to make it look worse than it does right now.” This earned a chuckle from Murphy, who knew Bellamy was right. He didn’t care much about his hair, especially at the bunker where it was easy to keep it clean. However, it was definitely getting too long for comfort, so he gave in.

Since the only mirror in the bunker was in the bathroom upstairs, Bellamy grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and brought it upstairs along with a pair of scissors, and the two of them squeezed into the small bathroom.

“Alright, take off your shirt,” said Bellamy, turning on the sink.

Murphy felt a little jolt of dread, realizing that taking his shirt off would mean Bellamy would see all the scars from the grounders’ torture, and he did not want to open up that can of worms.

“Nah,” he said nonchalantly, “I hate getting haircuts with my shirt off, it’s itchy”. He grabbed a towel to wrap around his shoulders instead before ducking his head under the running water.

Murphy sat back in the chair, and watched in the mirror as Bellamy started to comb out sections of his hair and snip the ends.

“How can I trust you to do this, anyway?” asked Murphy. “Have you ever even cut hair before?”

“Actually, I used to cut Octavia’s hair all the time,” Bellamy replied, readjusting Murphy’s head to get a different angle. “And yours is pretty much as long as hers right now.”

“Shut  _up,”_ laughed Murphy.

“You should be nice to me right now, cause I could easily butcher this if I wanted to,” said Bellamy. “And stop moving your head, or you’ll make me butcher it by accident.”

It didn’t take long for Bellamy to finish cutting his hair, although he constantly had to reprimand Murphy for moving his head too much.

“Okay, I have to admit, you did a pretty good job,” Murphy conceded as he stood up to check out his reflection in the mirror. He really did look much cleaner and better with his hair at ear-length like this.

“I did, didn’t I?” said Bellamy, quite pleased with himself. He ran a hand through Murphy’s hair, pushing it back so it looked like how Murphy used to wear it in the first few weeks on the ground. “It looks great.”

Bellamy stepped forward beside Murphy to examine his own hair. “Okay,” he said, “my turn.”

“What?”

“My turn,” he repeated, peeling off his shirt.

“No way,” said Murphy, “that’s not a good idea. I have no idea how to cut hair.”

“Just do what you saw me do,” said Bellamy, sticking his head under the faucet. “Besides, I really don’t care how it turns out as long as you get these curls out of my face.”

Murphy couldn’t really argue with that, and begrudgingly wrapped a towel around Bellamy’s shoulders as he sat down in the chair. Bellamy handed him the comb and scissors from the counter, and smirked at Murphy’s hesitant-looking expression in the mirror.

“Relax, it’s not that hard. Just start with the back of my head. Comb it out and then snip as evenly as you can,” he said.

Murphy followed his advice, and after a few minutes realized it was coming out pretty good. Bellamy continued to walk him through the steps and give him tips as he moved to the front section of his head.

It took Murphy a bit longer than Bellamy had taken, but eventually he finished and set the scissors down.

“Hey, not half bad,” said Bellamy, grinning and running his hands through his hair. He was right, Murphy had done a pretty good job. It wasn’t perfect, but it was even enough, and not too short- a good length for Bellamy, who looked a lot better without so much hair hiding his freckled face.

As Bellamy checked out his new haircut more closely in the mirror, Murphy stood beside him, looking at their reflections. He couldn’t help but notice that with their new haircuts, they looked strikingly like they looked back when they were first getting to know each other (albeit less dirty). Bellamy caught his eye in the mirror, and Murphy thought he might be thinking the same thing.

“Alright,” said Bellamy, “let’s clean these hair trimmings off the floor and go watch a movie.”

Later, as he sat in front of the TV with Bellamy falling asleep on the couch next to him, Murphy’s mind wandered back to those first couple weeks after the dropship landed. They were good friends back then, even though he was pretty much just Bellamy’s lackey. He remembered how they used to hang out in Bellamy’s tent for hours, or sharpen their knives and watch over the kids building the camp wall, or go on hunting trips and accidentally scare all the animals away with their banter. A lot had happened since then, and Murphy knew he could never forgive Bellamy for some of the things he’d done. He knew Bellamy probably felt the same. But at the same time, he somehow felt like that was really all behind them, at least for now. Here in the bunker, they were friends again, and they were better than they’d been in the first days on the ground because there was no fear or danger, no need for fights or power struggles.

A sharp snore from Bellamy snapped Murphy out of his thoughts. Bellamy was sound asleep, as per usual stretched across the couch with his legs on top of Murphy’s. Murphy slowly extracted himself, careful not to wake Bellamy up. As he turned off the TV and headed upstairs to bed, he glanced back at Bellamy and almost chuckled at how comfortable and content he looked, sound asleep on the couch. This bunker really was like their home now, and it was a damn good one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy wakes up in the middle of the night.

Murphy woke with a start. Someone was shaking him awake, their hands on his shoulders, way too close to him. Panicking, Murphy instinctively shoved them away hard, and only upon hearing their “ow” in response did he remember where he was and realize that the dark figure was, of course, Bellamy.

“What the hell?” said Murphy, noticing how hoarse his own voice sounded. He was breathing hard and his heart was racing strangely fast for having just been asleep.  

A lamp on the bedside table clicked on, shedding dim light over Bellamy, who was standing next to the bed. He looked groggy, his newly cut hair tousled as if he’d just woken up. “Sorry,” he said. “You were yelling in your sleep, I was just trying to wake you up.”

“Oh,” said Murphy, instantly remembering the nightmare he had been having moments before. Just the classic stuff- a noose around his neck, a dark cage, screaming himself hoarse with grounder knives digging into him. Nothing he hadn’t dreamt of a hundred times before. But this time he had been yelling loud enough to wake Bellamy up all the way downstairs. His breathing was slowing down to normal, but his heart still raced, now more from embarrassment than fear.

“Thanks,” he said. “You can go back to sleep now.”

“Well, are you okay?” Bellamy asked, stepping closer to the bed. “You were yelling pretty loud. Nightmare?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, wishing Bellamy would just go back downstairs. “I had this terrible nightmare about how bad your cooking used to be. Remember that freeze-dried tomato sauce?”

Bellamy couldn’t help smiling at that, but then his face twisted back into an expression of genuine concern.

“It’s fine, really,” said Murphy more seriously, appreciating Bellamy’s concern. “Happens all the time. Good thing I don’t keep my knife under my pillow anymore, or I might’ve stabbed you when you woke me up.”

Bellamy chuckled at that, but then suddenly his eyes widened and he gasped as if remembering something. “Hold on,” he said, his face breaking out into a grin. He rushed out of the room, leaving Murphy baffled.

A minute later though, he returned with something in his hand. He climbed onto the bed to sit with Murphy, who sat up and scooched over to accommodate him, curious about what Bellamy could possibly want to show him in the middle of the night.

“I searched the dropship for any leftover supplies on my way here, and I found this. I forgot about it till now, but I thought you might want it,” said Bellamy, handing over the object.

“My knife,” said Murphy, recognizing it instantly. Of course, this knife had bad memories attached to it, memories of being betrayed and hung and left for dead. It was the very evidence that had framed him for murder and ruined everything, but these weren’t the memories Murphy was thinking of as he ran his finger along the initials “J.M.” carved into the side. Instead, he thought of throwing contests and building the wall and patrolling with Bellamy by his side. He couldn’t help but grin as he slid the knife under his pillow where it belonged.

“Thank you,” he said, looking back up at Bellamy and meeting his eyes. Bellamy smiled and leaned back against the headboard.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here almost a month and I haven’t remembered to give that to you.”

“It’s okay,” replied Murphy. His eyelids felt heavy and he settled back into his spot in the ridiculously large and comfortable bed. “A month, huh? It feels longer.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy murmured in agreement, and yawned widely.

His yawn was contagious, and Murphy felt himself yawning too and buried his face deeper in the pillow. He barely registered Bellamy’s telltale snore a minute later before falling into a deep sleep himself.

The next morning, Murphy woke up first. He was quite startled for a second to see Bellamy’s freckled face so close to his, sound asleep on the pillow next to him. But of course, he then instantly remembered the whole waking up in the middle of the night thing. God, it had been embarrassing having Bellamy wake him up from a nightmare. But clearly Bellamy hadn’t been that phased by it or he wouldn’t have fallen asleep up here, all curled up next to Murphy in the king-sized bed.

“Hey, how bout some breakfast?” asked Murphy, reaching over to gently jostle Bellamy’s shoulder.

Bellamy groaned in response and pulled the covers over his head.

“C’mon man, my stomach’s rumbling,” Murphy complained.

“You make it then,” Bellamy replied groggily from under the covers. “You’re way more awake.”

“Fine,” said Murphy, rolling out of bed, “but I’m only making us toast.”

He returned upstairs five minutes later with two plates of toast and a disc of some old TV sitcom they’d been watching lately.

Bellamy poked his head out of the covers and eyed Murphy with mild surprise. “You’re bringing me breakfast in bed?”

“I figured you were too much of a lazy-ass to come downstairs and get it,” Murphy said, popping the disc into the small TV mounted on the wall. Bellamy grinned and sat up against the headboard, looking much more awake now.

Murphy handed him his plate and climbed back onto the bed next to Bellamy. “Oh wait, can you pass the remote?”

“Hold on,” Bellamy replied, hands and mouth completely occupied with toast.

Murphy smirked and leaned over Bellamy to grab the remote himself, but suddenly froze when he read the digital clock on the nightstand. He stared slack jawed at it for a moment before shaking his head and grabbing the remote.

“What?” asked Bellamy, noticing Murphy’s pause.

“Nothing,” said Murphy, flicking on the TV.

“Come on.”

Murphy chuckled. “The clock says it’s December 7th; it’s my goddamn birthday.”

“Shit, really?” said Bellamy, grinning widely. “Eighteen, right?”

“Yep. I’m now legally floatable on the Ark.”

Bellamy laughed. “We should do something!”

“Like what? We can hardly make a cake with nonperishable ingredients, or throw a huge party with just two people,” Murphy joked.

“Hey, don’t doubt my cooking skills,” Bellamy said, and Murphy couldn’t argue with that. “You only turn eighteen once, we should do _something_  beside sitting around.” 

“I happen to love sitting around. It’s treated me very well so far.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “We’ll think of something. For now, let’s go see if we can figure out that cake.”

“What?” Murphy whined. “I was kidding about that!”

Bellamy laughed and shut off the TV. “Come on.”

Murphy gave in and they headed downstairs. The “cake” ended up taking a long time, because even with Bellamy’s self-proclaimed cooking skills it was nearly impossible to get the right batter texture with no eggs or dairy. But Murphy quite enjoyed himself, teasing Bellamy as he tried to fiddle with the ratios and find creative replacements for the perishable ingredients.

It was afternoon by the time it was done and cooled off enough to eat. Murphy was glad Bellamy didn’t try to decorate it, or find candles, or anything like that. Just making the cake had been more than enough. They stood at the counter and dug in, sticking their forks right into the pan without bothering to get out plates.

Despite the slightly weird texture, it was a hundred times better than any of the dry, shitty birthday cakes he’d had as a kid on the Ark. He felt a warm rush of appreciation for the guy standing across from him, and he couldn’t help but smile as he reached for another bite.

“Happy birthday, Murphy,” said Bellamy through a mouthful of cake, smiling back at him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy has some more ideas for Murphy's birthday.

“Alright,” said Bellamy, “what should we do next for your birthday?”

He and Murphy had been sitting on the couch for about an hour, watching TV while they digested the massive quantity of birthday cake they’d just eaten.

“Dude,” Murphy replied, “you already spent hours making me a cake. My birthday has been more than adequately celebrated.”

“Come _on_ ,” Bellamy protested. “It’s only like 3pm. We should do something else!”

“Well, you already got me a birthday gift too,” said Murphy, gesturing to the knife, which he had tucked into his belt loop for safekeeping. “When you gave me this, it was past midnight, so it was technically already my birthday.”  

Bellamy laughed. “You’re right. That gives me an idea though.” He stood up and extended a hand, pulling Murphy to his feet.

“What are we doing?” asked Murphy.

“Grab your coat.”

Murphy rolled his eyes, but did as Bellamy said. When the two were bundled up, they headed outside into the frosty December afternoon. Bellamy headed over to the edge of the woods with Murphy following suit, and then pulled a sharp kitchen knife from his jacket pocket.

A grin spread across Murphy’s face, and he pulled his own knife from his belt loop. “Oh, it’s on.”

Bellamy grinned back. He turned to a tree about 20 feet away, aimed, and hurled the kitchen knife across the gap. It stuck perfectly in the tree.

“Beginner’s luck,” said Murphy.

Bellamy smirked. “You know from experience that’s no beginner’s luck.”

Murphy aimed at the same tree, and threw his own knife. It hit the tree, but bounced off and fell to the ground.

“Shit,” he said, laughing. “Just like old times.”

Bellamy laughed too, and the boys spent the next twenty minutes chucking their knives at different trees. The pattern continued, Bellamy’s knife almost always stuck and Murphy’s usually bounced off.

“You really are such shit at this,” Bellamy joked.

“Hey,” said Murphy, mock-offended, “you can’t be mean to me, it’s my birthday.”

“You know what? You’re right. As your third birthday gift I’ll help you catch up to my superior skills.”

Murphy smiled, raising his eyebrows at Bellamy’s cockiness. “Okay fine, teach me your expert knife-throwing ways.”

“Alright, so, your aim is good. Really good. You always hit the tree, no matter how far you are. Your problem is your force, you don’t throw it hard enough for it to stick.”

“Okay, so all I have to do is get buff like you and then I’ll be a perfect knife thrower,” Murphy joked.

“Right,” said Bellamy, grinning slightly at the compliment, “or you could just learn the right technique to throw harder. Here, I’ll show you.” He imitated throwing his knife in slow motion. “See how I move my left arm, in order to give my throwing arm some extra force?”

Murphy nodded, and gave it a try. His knife still didn’t stick.

“Okay, let me help you,” said Bellamy, when Murphy had returned with his knife. He stood behind Murphy as Murphy aimed at the tree.

“Your right arm should be back here,” he said, positioning Murphy’s throwing arm. “And then your left arm is down here. You make sort of a grabbing motion with this one when you throw, see?” He held Murphy’s left wrist and moved it in the right motion to illustrate what he meant.

Murphy nodded, and Bellamy let go of his hands and stepped aside. Murphy hurled the knife, following Bellamy’s instructions as closely as possible. The knife hit the tree, stuck for a second, and then fell out.

Murphy cursed, but Bellamy looked pleased. “Hey, best one yet! The technique works!”

Murphy collected his knife and threw many more times, slowly improving. By the time he and Bellamy needed to go back inside to warm up, he’d gotten the knife to stick several times. Bellamy was delighted, and Murphy was a bit proud of himself too.

 _It’s really not like old times,_ Murphy thought to himself, reflecting on his comment earlier. They may have the same old haircuts and be throwing knives at trees again, but everything was different now. When they used to throw knives, it always made Murphy feel inferior and self-conscious, and Bellamy was always so smug, so superior. The old Bellamy would never have patiently taught Murphy his technique and given away his upper hand. Now their competition was genuinely friendly, just like their relationship.

Once they’d gotten back to the bunker, they warmed up next to the electric fireplace and had a small dinner. As Murphy was rinsing off their plates in the sink, Bellamy grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the wall of booze bottles.

“Birthday drink?”

“Hell yeah,” said Murphy. He got two glasses from the cabinet, but paused at the look on Bellamy’s face. “What?”

“We’re gonna need more glasses. Twenty, actually.”

“What? Why?” asked Murphy, confused. “I don’t think we even have twenty glasses.”

“For beer pong!” said Bellamy, grinning. “That’s okay, we can use twelve instead.”

“What? Beer pong? I’ve never even played that. Or any drinking game, for that matter.”

“You’ve never played a drinking game?” asked Bellamy incredulously.

“Uh, I kind of spent most of my adolescent years in prison, Bellamy,” said Murphy, laughing. “I’m surprised you have.”

“Hey, I had my fun before I joined the guard cadets. C’mon, I’ll show you how to play.”

Murphy grinned at the mental image of Bellamy as an irresponsible teenager, and shrugged in agreement. He was actually kind of excited to get the chance to play a stupid drinking game.

“Now, normally you’re supposed to fill the cups with beer and drink each cup that the other person scores in,” Bellamy explained. “But we obviously don’t have any beer, and if we did that with whiskey that might be a little much.”

“What, you can’t chug six consecutive glasses of whiskey?” Murphy joked. “Such a wimp.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I have a better idea. Let’s just do what I used to do on the Ark when we only had moonshine.”

They filled the twelve glasses with water instead, and brought them over to the pool table. Bellamy arranged them into a triangle shape of six glasses at either end. Then Bellamy poured them each an additional glass of whiskey to drink from when the other person scored, and rolled some tin foil into a ball the size of a ping pong ball.

Murphy readied himself to begin, but Bellamy paused and grabbed the TV remote.

“Hold on, it’s not a party without some music.”

“Bellamy, it’s not a party with two people either,” Murphy laughed, but he still stole the remote from Bellamy to pick the playlist himself. The TV’s music playing feature had barely been used since Murphy had first walked into the bunker with “Werewolves of London” playing, but Murphy knew the old pre-Ark songs on the TV’s music library a bit better than Bellamy did.

When the music was properly blasting, Bellamy carefully aimed and took the first shot, and the ball landed smack dab in the closest cup.

“Damn,” said Murphy, fishing it out. “So I drink now?”

“Yes. And you take out the cup I just scored in.”

Murphy set the cup aside and took a big sip of whiskey, and took his turn. He scored too, and gloated a bit as Bellamy drank deeply from his own cup. Soon they were both properly wasted, since they were both pretty damn good at the simple aiming game after a day of practicing knife-throwing.

“HA!” yelled Murphy as he sunk the ball into Bellamy’s final cup. “I win!”

Bellamy laughed and raised his glass to him, downing the last few sips for his penalty. “Maybe I just let you win cause it’s your birthday,” he teased, slurring slightly.

“Riiiight, sure, okay.” Murphy glanced at the clock display on the TV, which was still blasting catchy music. “Shit, it’s late. We should probably clean this up.”

Bellamy groaned, and Murphy grabbed two glasses and headed over to the sink. “Clearly I’m the more responsible drunk,” he bragged, but he then immediately stumbled and both glasses slipped out of his hands. They shattered on the kitchen floor, and Bellamy burst out laughing.

“Responsible drunk, huh?” he said, cracking up.

“Shit,” said Murphy, grinning too. “I guess not.” Realizing he was barefoot, he tried to summon his sober balancing ability and step over the broken glass to the safety of the carpet. However, there was too much whiskey in him for that, and he stepped right onto a small shard of glass.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, and Bellamy laughed even harder.

“Okay, I’ll come rescue you,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I’ve got slippers on.”

“Right, I forgot you’re middle aged.”

Bellamy stepped through the mess of glass to Murphy. He wrapped his arms tightly around him and hoisted him over to the carpet.

“So noble. My drunken hero,” said Murphy. “Y’know, you could’ve just tossed me the slippers.”

Bellamy laughed. “Well, I didn’t think of that.”

Murphy leaned back on the pool table and picked out the piece of glass from his foot.

“Shouldn’t you use tweezers or something?”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“Actually yes,” replied Bellamy, heading over to the kitchen and bringing back a band aid from the first aid kit, which they hadn’t needed since that first day when Bellamy had sewn up Murphy’s arm.

“Again, so heroic. You’re truly saving my life twice in one night,” Murphy kidded, but accepted the band aid.

“Do I need to carry you up to bed too? Since your injury is so severe?” Bellamy teased, holding his arms out as if to carry Murphy bridal-style.

“Shut up,” said Murphy, laughing and pushing him away. “I am actually pretty tired though.”

“Me too,” said Bellamy. He grabbed the remote and switched off the music. “Should we clean up all this broken glass first?”

“That can be a problem for sober us,” Murphy said, heading over to the stairs.

“So much for ‘responsible drunk.’”

“I gave up on ‘responsible drunk’ when I dropped the damn glasses,” Murphy replied, and started up the stairs. He stumbled a little, much more from drunkenness than from the cut in his foot, and soon Bellamy was behind him, laughing and trying to steady him on his way up.

“You’re hardly that helpful when you’re this drunk too,” Murphy protested, and Bellamy lurched a bit behind him, proving Murphy’s point. They were both cracking up as they staggered into the bedroom and collapsed on the king sized bed.

“Mind if I sleep here too?” Bellamy mumbled.

Murphy laughed as Bellamy answered his own question by climbing under the covers and switching off the light. 

“Oh yeah, make yourself comfortable.”

“So, not a bad birthday, huh?”

“It was great,” said Murphy, the whiskey allowing him a rare moment of sincerity.

Bellamy’s eyes were already closed, but he smiled.

“When’s your birthday?” Murphy asked.

“Not until March.”

“Well, unfortunately you’re gonna have to make your own cake, cause there’s no way I can figure that recipe out.”

Bellamy chuckled and nestled deeper into his pillow. As Bellamy started to drift off, Murphy realized the implications of what he’d just said. Would they still be in the bunker in three month’s time? Life had become so perfect here, it was hard for Murphy to picture ever wanting to leave.  But he knew they couldn’t stay here forever. It wasn’t realistic. Running out of food and supplies was probably years off, but they would need to face the world eventually.

But that was a problem for sober Murphy. Drunk Murphy was perfectly content to snuggle into his side of the king sized bed and drift off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Bellamy grow closer as winter approaches.

In the weeks after Murphy’s birthday, Murphy and Bellamy were closer than ever. They even stopped bothering with such pretenses like sleeping on the couch, and had shared the bed every night since. Sure, even with the huge bed they occasionally brushed against each other or woke up with one person way too far on the other person’s side, but Murphy honestly didn’t mind. The bed was big enough that even just getting half of it was better than the couch.

Sharing the bed had at first made Murphy nervous that he would wake Bellamy up with his nightmares again, but over the weeks that worry faded. He hadn’t had a single nightmare since the time Bellamy had woken him up and given him the knife. Murphy wondered if sleeping with Bellamy by his side could even be the reason he was having so few nightmares. And besides, he knew now that even if he did start sleep-screaming, Bellamy wouldn’t judge him. That knowledge was more comforting than Murphy could even put into words.

They spent the weeks hanging out, cooking, watching movies, and playing games like they always did, but things felt better between them than ever before. He and Bellamy were genuinely friends now, _close_ friends, and any past barrier between them had long since faded away.

In fact, they had even started opening up to each other, more than Murphy ever had before with any other friend. Sleeping in the same bed and drinking frequently were very conducive to honest late-night conversations, and Murphy and Bellamy often found themselves talking into the night. There would always be some things that Murphy could never talk about with Bellamy, of course, but the two learned a lot about each other.

Murphy hadn’t known anything about Bellamy’s life on the Ark, for example, except that he was a guard cadet with a secret sister and had played beer pong a few times. And of course, Bellamy hadn’t known anything about Murphy’s life before the ground. They shared their stories though, and Murphy wasn’t too surprised to find that they had such similar pasts, both having gotten a parent floated and having suffered the guilt for it ever since.

They even talked about Mount Weather a few times. Bellamy explained the details of what had happened; he told Murphy about Lincoln’s betrayal, and being strung up and drained of his blood, and having to watch his friends being drilled for bone marrow. And worst of all, he told Murphy about pulling that lever and having to step into the room with all the bodies of the people he’d killed. It was clear to Murphy that all this had been eating away at Bellamy the entire time they’d been in the bunker, and he honestly felt kind of honored that Bellamy was willing to talk to him about it. And, as it turned out, Murphy was a damned good listener. Empathy was not something that he experienced often, but it came easily with Bellamy now that they’d become so close. And he could tell how much Bellamy appreciated it.

Often Bellamy would talk about Camp Jaha, wondering aloud whether Clarke had returned and how they were handling the onset of winter. Murphy didn’t want to think about that though, and always changed the subject. Camp Jaha felt like another world, a hellish one that he didn’t have to worry about anymore.

The bunker was his world now, and he and Bellamy were the only people in it. And that little world became more and more blissful as the winter weather outside grew more hostile.

One morning, weeks after his birthday, Murphy found himself being violently shaken awake by an excited Bellamy.

“Dude, you have to wake up,” Bellamy said, ignoring Murphy’s annoyed groan. “It snowed!”

“Wait, snow?” Murphy said, shaking off his grogginess. He understood Bellamy’s excitement, no one on the ark had ever seen real snow before. He rolled out of bed and pushed past Bellamy to look through the small bedroom window. He expected to see the ground covered in fluffy white snow like he’d seen in old movies, but mostly it just looked frosty. What was coming down from the sky looked more like icy rain or sleet than real snowflakes.

“Seriously? You call that snow?” he said, turning back to Bellamy, whose grin didn’t fade at all.

“C’mon, we’re going outside”, said Bellamy, and Murphy rolled his eyes and followed him down the stairs. He didn’t even have time to grab his tattered old jacket before Bellamy took him by the arm and pulled him outside through the door they hadn’t used in weeks.

“Okay, this is barely a dusting,” Murphy complained, shivering in the freezing rain. But Bellamy was already kneeling, scraping at the ground with his hands.

“I’m still gonna make a snowball,” Bellamy replied.

“There is no way that’s gonna work,” Murphy said, laughing at Bellamy’s efforts. “It’s pretty much just thick frost.”

Bellamy cursed as saw that Murphy was right; the snow was just melting in his hands as he tried to gather it. “Fine,” he said, begrudgingly standing back up. “But when it snows for real, I’m gonna make a snowball and you’re getting hit with it.”

Murphy smirked and gave Bellamy a light shove back towards the bunker. “You do that. But we’re going back inside now before we get hypothermia.”

“You’re such a wimp. It’s barely even real winter yet.”

“It’s late December,” Murphy replied as he pulled the bunker door closed behind them. He couldn’t help but shiver in his now soaked t-shirt, and laughed when he saw Bellamy do the same. “You’re not a wimp, huh?”

“Shut up,” said Bellamy, grinning, but his slightly chattering teeth betrayed him. He admitted defeat and they both changed out of their wet clothes. The bunker was still a bit chilly though, the open door having let in a lot of cold air while they were outside.

“I can make us some hot chocolate,” Murphy offered, remembering the box of instant hot cocoa in the pantry that they’d never thought to use.

“No, we should save that for when it’s _actually_ cold,” said Bellamy.

Murphy rolled his eyes, but made them some hot tea instead. They curled up on the couch to watch a movie, and Bellamy pulled a warm blanket over the both of them.

Murphy noticed how much closer they were sitting than they used to in their first weeks together. They were practically pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, with Bellamy’s feet curled up under Murphy’s legs and his arm stretched out on the couch behind Murphy’s head. And it wasn’t just cause they were cold and sharing a blanket; they’d been sitting close like this a lot lately. In fact, they’d been more physically close in general, standing hip to hip while cooking or brushing against each other in their shared bed without pulling away.

Murphy felt he should be surprised by the newfound physicality of their friendship, but he wasn’t. It just felt natural, and he found himself leaning into it more often than not. He’d never had a friend like this, one that he could not only open up to but could also casually share personal space with. And he had to admit, he’d _missed_ physical contact. It had been years since he’d had much physical contact that didn’t involve him being manhandled or beat up or tortured, so he wasn’t even ashamed to admit that this kind of contact felt nice.

Murphy wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and leaned his head back against Bellamy’s arm, thinking about how lucky he was. Not just to have the bunker with its warmth and safety and luxuries, but also to have a real, honest to god, genuine friend here with him. He thought back to what he’d asked himself on the night of his birthday, when he’d wondered how long they would stay here. He knew now that he would stay here forever if he could. This was exactly where he wanted to be.


End file.
